Epiphany
by DoThePieFace
Summary: Sometimes, he felt as though it wasn't worth it in the end. Sometimes he thought he knew better. He wasn't as knowledgeable as he'd like to think, but sometimes, that's not such a bad thing.


**Disclaimer: **The characters of Fullmetal Alchemist are not mine; I just like messing with them.

**Summary: **Sometimes, he felt as though it wasn't worth it in the end. Sometimes, he thought he knew better. Jean Havoc isn't quite as knowledgeable as he'd like to think. But sometimes, that's not such a bad thing.

**Warning: **SPOLIERS!!! From the manga chapter…like all of them. It is set in the Manga-Verse.

**Epiphany**

'_Forget mistakes. Forget Failure. Forget everything except what you are doing now, and do it.' – Will Durant_

A part of him almost wanted her to be there when they walked into the room. Wanted her to be there, ready for another one of their dates. She was one of the few women who he actually enjoyed spending time with and who enjoyed spending time with him in return. She was one of the only one's who was interested in hearing his stories – if only for all the wrong reasons – yet who seemed to like to hear the sound of his voice. Who didn't appear to mind his smoking habit. Then again, maybe all of that had been deception as well. He recalled Mustangs words: _It's become a matter of life and death. Forget the women._

He steeled himself and entered the room after Mustang, his senses alert. Mustang warned him to watch out for her regenerative powers nonetheless, and his eyes continued to scour the item-strewn floor.

Somewhere in his mind his brain was telling him that something was wrong, the moment the thing moved, but when the mind panics, rationality is not always the first thing that is dealt with. He felt a sharp – and ironically enough – stabbing pain cut through his chest and he could see, even as his vision began twisting, that she was forming again from the ruins. She was rising from the smoke and destruction even as he fell.

He didn't feel his legs collapse underneath him, but all of a sudden the ground was rushing up to meet him. Mustang called out his name as he fell to the ground, his cigarette arrived on the cluttered floor before him, and a trail of blood made its way down his chin from the corner of his mouth.

"Havoc!!" Mustang called again, placing a hand on his shoulder as his eyes widened and his hands shook against the cold floor. "C'mon!!" It was the most desperate he'd ever heard Mustang's voice, and he couldn't help but feel a little appreciated, until the realization came that no matter how much he was trying to get up again, his body wasn't listening to what he was telling it.

"…my luck with women really sucks…" he said at last, chocked and quiet. _She _spoke again, regenerating at an alarming rate.

"It's hopeless." She said shortly. "He won't survive." He felt Mustang's hand leave his shoulder, and even as the room began to spin and became darker, he felt the rifle being taken from him.

"You're wrong…" Mustang said a strong sense of determination in his voice. He didn't know what happened, but he could hear the shot of the gun and the two of them saying something, but all of his senses were beginning to leave him. His arm lost its strength beneath him and he fell flat to the ground, just as he felt the hand once again on his shoulder. "Havoc! Hold on!" But Mustangs voice was distant and he didn't hear what his commanding officer said next.

He did hear, and partly feel, as the said man fell to the ground in a heap beside him, and through his half-lidded eyes he could see _her_, looking down at the both of them with a look that left something to be desired. "Watch your officer gradually turn cold before your eyes," He realised that she wasn't talking to him, and with that, let his eyes close slowly. "And die along with him."

"Second Lieutenant Havoc…" Mustang's voice sounded different this time, he thought idly, making a final attempt to move into a more comfortable position, and once again failing to move at all. "Hey, Havoc!" The voice broke through his thoughts again; this man just wouldn't let him sleep. Didn't he know that he was tired? He'd been watching Barry and Falman from afar for days now, it was tiring. "Answer me! Havoc!!" His voice was growing more desperate, and Jean suddenly felt as though he should answer, and he tried, he really did, but no noise escaped his lips. "Damn it…damn it…" Hawkeye wouldn't like him using that language, he thought and almost giggled. "Everyone goes before me…" Goes where? Havoc wondered. "Havoc! I won't allow you to die before I do!!" Awww, that was sweet. Wasn't it? It was rather a strange thing to say, who's planning to die any time soon? "HAVOC!!"

Oh wait; he was dying…wasn't he? He opened his eyes a little as Mustang tried to crawl over to him, the lighter that he'd gotten from his ex in his hand. And no matter how tired he was, and no matter how much this time he tried to _stop_ the noise, he couldn't help but cry out as he felt a sharp, burning feeling on his already aching wounds. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists a little, and the last thing he heard before he passed out was Mustang's voice, quieter and less confident than normal. "I'm sorry, Jean. Sorry, just a little longer, I've got to stop the bleeding, stay with me, sorry…sorry." And if Jean didn't know any better, he'd have thought Mustang believed that he was going to survive.

Good thing he knew better.

And the last thought he had before he shut his eyes at last and slept, was this had to be the worst way anyone had ever told him they weren't interested in continuing the relationship.

* * *

The next thing that he could remember clearly was waking up surrounded by white-washed walls, and white bed sheets, and white floor tiles, and a bright white light that lay in his direct line of vision; and he suddenly wondered why the hell they made everything so _white _when it almost burned your eyes out with its sudden intensity. "Havoc?" He turned his head at the voice and grinned at the figure in the bed next to him. 

"Hey, boss." He greeted, "Sor–"

"Don't apologise." Mustang interrupted. "_I'm _sorry, because we shouldn't have gone in, because this is now _my _fault." It was then that Havoc noticed the stoic figure of Lieutenant Hawkeye, standing in between their beds, and he grinned slightly at her too, but she was standing with her eyes closed, and didn't see him. They sat in silence for a moment, and if Havoc didn't know any better, he'd think the air between them was one caused by awkwardness; the kind of awkward people felt when they were hiding something.

Good thing he knew better.

"So…Solaris..?" He asked hesitantly and Mustang replied much quicker.

"Dead," He said, and his voice held the slightest hint of remorse.

"Ah," Havoc said, beginning to think that maybe there was something awkward that hung between them. "Well," he said, a joking tone to his voice, and missed the somewhat pained look that Mustang sent him. "That would have to be the _worst _breakup I've ever had. No doubt about it," He laughed a little at his own joke. "D'you think they'll let me smoke in the hospital?" He asked, using his arms to haul himself up higher on his pillows, wincing at the sudden pain that shot through his body, oddly enough, stopping at his legs. His brow furrowed in curiosity and he tried to move his legs, but when nothing happened curiosity was replaced with concern and – though he wouldn't soon admit it – fear.

He tried many more times, soon reaching down despite the pain, and pinching one of his legs – hard. "I can't…" He began, turning to face Mustang but stopping at the look on his face. Mustangs lips were pressed tight, and his eyes were firmly closed, his head was turned away from him. "Mustang?!" He asked and he couldn't keep the panic from his voice. "I can't feel my legs." He stated and Mustang visibly flinched. And that, more than anything, frightened him.

His face went blank and he stared at Mustang in shock, his mouth was open and he didn't care to try and close it. Suddenly, he understood why Mustang was sorry; he understood why Hawkeye didn't say anything. He laughed, and Mustang looked up at him with concern barely hidden on his face.

"It's just…just a temporary thing, right?" He asked, his voice almost pleading with Mustang. The laugh flew from his face and voice as quickly as it had come. "Just temporary?" But when Mustang didn't reply he lay back on his bed, the pain in his side dull and unimportant. "Oh…" He said. "I need a smoke."

And that was all he could muster.

* * *

He could faintly remember Breda putting his arms around his own, trying to get him to calm down when he had…for want of a better term…snapped. He could faintly remember Hawkeye offering him some words of wisdom, words which he took to heart. But the one thing that stayed with him, more so than the comforting gesture, more so than the comforting words, was the promise Mustang had made to him. He remembered, much more clearly, how he had pleaded for Mustang to leave him behind, how his heart had unwittingly clenched when Mustang had agreed. 

Mustang wasn't _supposed _to agree. Didn't he know that? Mustang was supposed to say something great and uplifting; he was supposed to tell Jean that everything was going to be alright, because surely, anything the great Colonel Mustang promised would be true. Then again, he supposed what Roy had had to say, was uplifting in its own way. At least…at least Roy didn't give up on Jean as Jean had given up on himself.

"_I leave you so…you must catch up…I'll be going first. I'll be waiting at the top." _

He recalled the words and couldn't help but smile to himself, catching his mother's eye and smiling at her too. She attempted to smile back, but he supposed seeing him in this state, with her helpless, wasn't the greatest motivator to bring joy to the older woman's face. If he didn't know any better he'd think she didn't like the career choice he'd made.

Good thing he knew better.

He tested the weights that Breda had bought for him, bringing them up and down in his clenched fist, aware that his mother was watching him, trying to hold back tears; and he steeled his determination. He _would _walk again, no matter what happened, he would join Mustang at the top…he would be there when Mustang accomplished his dream. Because the man had given him hope, because he had made a promise now, and because Jean Havoc, was a man of his word.

* * *

The thing that hurt the most, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it, was how incredibly weak he felt. How incredibly _pathetic. _How he loathed that word, the one insult that always struck a cord within him. Whether it came from some haunting memory, or some lingering thing that had once gone wrong, whether it was something he had decided on his own some time ago didn't particularly matter. He just knew that he _hated it_. Almost as much as he hated being so incredibly _helpless. _

He took a few deep breaths again, and raised himself from his wheelchair, placing a hand on either side of the metal bars that stretched out across his lounge room, and slowly half-dragged, half-walked to where they ended. Then he spun himself around, prepared to go back to the chair that he spent most of his time in. He knew that he shouldn't be doing it while no one was there to catch him if he fell; he knew that he shouldn't be doing it while no one was around to help him should he be unable to get back up.

And as he lay on the floor, panting heavily – his head bleeding from the impact of hitting the metal bar on his way to the ground – he cursed himself for being an idiot. His arms were shaky from the exertion he had already put them through, but he still tried to drag himself across the floor towards his wheelchair. He felt his abdomen burn as the carpet stung his aging injuries and his arms finally collapsed underneath him, leaving him shaking on the floor, trying to find the strength to move the few meters to his beloved chair.

He didn't know how long he lay there, on the floor, but by the time he pulled himself back to reality his breathing had evened out, and the sky had turned a dark deep blue. He realised, that he was probably going to have to sleep there on the floor, because his arms were aching and weren't going to work again for a while and his legs…well…they'd been out of the equation for a while now.

There was a knock on his door, but he failed to hear it, procrastinating silently to himself in the dark. _I need those clapping lights_, he thought to himself once again failing to hear the louder knock on the door. He didn't pay attention to the loud knocks and calls, and only realised that someone had opened his door when light suddenly flooded the room. His short "Oh," of surprise was drowned out by a loud.

"Havoc?!" And he felt someone kneel next to him, shaking him gently. "Jean?!"

"I'm awake Hawkeye," He said, sarcasm in his voice as he kept his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. "Did you have to turn the light on?" He asked and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing on the floor?" She asked, half already knowing the answer. He grinned wryly.

"…I fell…" He admitted eventually, still not liking the blow to his pride as he admitted it, despite the fact he knew that she wouldn't judge him. "And I couldn't get back up." She quickly went and got his wheelchair, helping him as he heaved himself up into the seat. "Thanks." He said quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Havoc...Jean, how have you been?" She asked and he grinned lopsidedly.

"I'm as well as can be expected _Riza_." He replied and she smiled and nodded, but the smile soon disappeared and she moved in closer to his face, brushing the hair aside from his forehead, even as he blushed involuntarily at their proximity and pressed a cautious finger to his hairline.

"Um…Ow?" Havoc said uncertainly.

"What happened here?" She asked and he chuckled embarrassedly.

"I hit my head on my oh-so-wonderful journey to the floor." She sighed and headed into his bathroom, bringing back with her a first aid kit and she fixed up his head as they sat in silence.

"I know I haven't visited in a while," She began, dabbing at the small wound with disinfectant. "I doubt anyone's had much time to visit. I'd say that I'm sorry, but I doubt that's what you want to hear right now." He laughed and she smiled in return. "A lot's happening right now, what with the unit being separated and everything." She sighed and he noticed she looked a lot more tired than she used to. "It's all just a lot of bad news really. At least you're…safe…in a manner of speaking."

"How is everyone?" He asked and she sighed again.

"As well as can be expected." She replied dryly. "The Colonels' had to be a lot more cautious now that he's had so much attention turned his way, and of course Edward and Alphonse…well not much has changed _there _I suppose." She finished what she was doing and turned her attention to his face. "How's the physio going?" She asked gently.

"As slow as ever. I know I said…but sometimes…" He shook his head. "It's just taking a while." He said, trying to comfort her. "I'm getting better." And if he hadn't known any better, he would've believed his own words…

Good thing he knew better…

* * *

The day that he stood on his own two legs and walked from one end of his room to the other, was one of the happiest days of his life. Despite the fact that he collapsed at the end of his small journey, bereft of all his energy, and despite the fact that his legs ached for ages afterwards, he had laughed for a solid 10 minutes. 

His only regret was that no one was there to see him…then again, perhaps that wasn't as bad a thing as he thought it was. Because whether he had laughed so much that he had cried or whether the tears had appeared before he had even begun laughing, he had cried for a _lot _longer than 10 minutes.

For weeks after then, he had tried harder than he ever had at the physiotherapy – his doctors believed that he'd overwork himself – and the muscles in his legs began to work again, began to _function_. That is, until the doctors had been proven right and he'd landed himself back in hospital. He didn't mind though, he reveled in hitting on the nurses; his confidence appeared to have grown greatly with that one short moment of succession, with that one sweet taste of accomplishment.

And after finally emerging from his house, after hardly leaving for a long _long _time, he began to hear rumours. News in whispers of disloyalty and rebellion against the Fürher drifted to his bedside. They continued to grow in strength, even as he packed his things, prepared to return home, with merely crutches to aid his walking.

The day he'd walked out of the hospital with nothing but a couple of sticks under his arms for support joined his list of 'best days ever'. And to celebrate the victory, he went grocery shopping, frightening enough people with the stupid grin he wore on his face for the entire day.

But nothing – Jean Havoc decided – could match the joy and pride he felt when he walked up to his old comrades, to his old friends. He had greeted them with that same stupid grin, leaning slightly on one of the crutches that helped him get around, and he grinned toothily as Mustang approached the group, dressed in an attire fitting of the moment. "I caught up," Jean said, the pride showing through in his voice, "Tell me, oh my great Fürher, what's it like at the top?" And Mustang returned the stupid grin, slapping him lightly on the back.

"There's a great view," He replied. "And – at the risk of sounding corny – I'm glad you made it." The grinned turned into a genuine smile and if Jean hadn't known better he would've sworn Mustang's was about to _cry._

Good thing he knew better.

* * *


End file.
